


uninvited guests

by darthpumpkinspice



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Feelings Realization, Post-Breaking Dawn, Threesome - F/F/M, sort of enemies to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:41:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26937547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthpumpkinspice/pseuds/darthpumpkinspice
Summary: Carlisle and Esme pop up on her doorstep unannounced one night, and Leah finds that, surprisingly, some vampires can be rather pleasant company.
Relationships: Carlisle Cullen/Esme Cullen, Leah Clearwater/Carlisle Cullen, Leah Clearwater/Carlisle Cullen/Esme Cullen, Leah Clearwater/Esme Cullen
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	uninvited guests

**Author's Note:**

> riding on that twilight renaissance babeyyyy
> 
> is this any good? no clue! but it was fun cranking this thing out, and i've been part of the Leah Clearwater Defense Squad for a decade so :D

It first _happens_ a little after Christmas, that time of year when the magic of the holiday has freshly faded away, those lonely few days before the drunken celebrations of New Years. It _happens_ in that empty tail end of December, when all the gifts have been opened, all the visiting families have returned home, and wreaths and decorations are being packed away to dusty attics and cold basement storage.

But it _starts_ right after the battle-that-never-was. The foreign vampires slink away, Bella and Edward waltz off with their adorable little abomination, and eventually things return to a semblance of normalcy. Which, for Leah, mostly means going back to the dubious comforts of drinking alone and blowing off steam with midnight runs in the forests. She’s not entirely ungrateful – the bizarre diversion of the hybrid child resulted in her _finally_ being able to split from Sam’s pack and the mental nightmare that came with getting forced to share his thoughts. But it’s a consolation prize, at best. She’s still the same as ever – alone, bitter, and resigned to the _shittiness_ that her life has become. If you’d told her a few years ago that she’d be dumped by her boyfriend for her own _cousin_ , and then transformed into something out of a horror movie, she’d have choked on laughter. Her future had seemed so _bright_ then, so full of possibility. Now it just stretches ahead of her like a gray, unending horizon. She nurses a glass of bottom-shelf whiskey and wonders, dully, if this is all she has to look forward to, forever. Ageless and bored and growing more dead inside with every passing month.

Her skin prickles, and she feels suddenly claustrophobic in the confines of body. She aches to be the wolf again, to race unencumbered through the trees, to run until all this noxious, anxious _energy_ has been depleted. She’s begun the process of stripping off her clothes – she chucks her shirt onto her chair and is about to unhook her bra – when she _smells_ them. The undead, approaching. Leah tenses instinctively, trying to ready herself for… well, she’s not sure _what_ exactly. She’s expecting a fight, maybe, but instead the doorbells rings, and Leah just about jumps out of her skin.

“Shit,” she hisses under her breath, and then presses her lips firmly together, remembering too late that their vampiric ears can hear everything inside her house. She stays still for a long moment, hoping that they’ll take the hint and fuck off. But their scent doesn’t change a degree, and she knows how inhumanely patient their kind can be. Screw it, she decides, she’s a big girl – she can tell them to get lost up close and personal if that’s what they want. She ambles over to the door, deciding against putting her shirt back on. She’s not going to go out of her way to look _presentable_ for some visiting vamps – if they want to pop by at this objectionably late hour, she’s not going to bother covering up her tits for their comfort.

She yanks open the door more forcefully than is strictly necessary, and glowers at her guests. It’s the older two vamps that greet her. It takes her a few seconds to recall their names – Esme and Carlisle. They stare at her with those creepy, ancient eyes on their too-youthful faces.

“What do you want?” she growls.

In tandem, their eyes flicker to her half-naked chest, briefly but noticeably. Leah has the petty hope that she’s making them uncomfortable, and she’s dismayed that their expressions don’t lose even a fraction of their perfect pleasantness.

It’s the blond one who speaks first, the doctor. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you,” he says mildly. “We’ve missed your company.”

“Yes,” Leah says dryly. “Because we had _so_ many riveting conversations, the three of us.”

He has the nerve to smile at that, and his eyes glitter with mirth. His lips part as if about to respond, but it’s his wife that speaks next. “Join us for the evening.”

Leah has half a mind to correct her that it’s far past _evening_ at this point, but they both look so _sincere_ that she swallows back the snide remark. This is beginning to feel very surreal, and if her metabolism hadn’t already burned away whatever buzz she’d been able to get from the whiskey, she’d probably think that this whole thing was a drunken dream. But she’s wide-awake and stone-cold sober, and there are two vampires at her doorstep, politely requesting her company. She realizes she’s been holding her breath, and she exhales. “Why not,” she mumbles, and for the life of her she’s not sure _what_ possessed her to agree.

Carlisle and Esme’s eyes shine bright and victorious and something that’s a _little_ too warm to be called dread sinks down to settle in her belly.

And that’s how it starts.

They start to drop by more and more often, and screw it – it’s not like Leah is doing anything _else_ – and it’s an insidious trap, because before she knows it she’s suddenly a regular guest at their grotesquely modern home, sipping on the aged scotch that they’ve kept around, untouched, for decades, and listening to them regale her with everything from the mundane ins-and-outs of Carlisle’s medical practice, to vampire gossip (she’s not good at keeping the names straight, but it’s always amusing to hear about Vladimir or whoever fucking some Volturi prick called Caius), to stories from their own long histories. Once in a while they’re even able to coax a story or two out of her, but it’s uncomfortable how enchanted they always seem when she divulges something, no matter whether it’s an old memory from her childhood or something as recent and juvenile as recollecting the crude joke Embry had told their pack the day before. She’s unused to being the center of attention in any conceivable way. She’s always been Leah, the unwanted addition, Leah, the perpetual third-wheel. And yeah, maybe she’s still _technically_ third-wheeling, maybe this is all some self-destructive masochism on her part, but Carlisle and Esme have a knack for shining the spotlight on her as often as each other. And every once in a while, she even lets them lure her into a game of Scrabble.

And that continues, for almost a full year. She’s still not fully comfortable with them, and she’s not sure she ever _will_ be – it’s not their fault, but there’s always going to be that animal instinct in the back of her mind screaming at her that they’re killers, apex predators, and wolf or not _she’s_ still made of soft and breakable parts. But she’s lonely and bored and she can grudgingly admits that they are, at least, pretty good company. And lately she’s found that their beauty, which had initially been so unnatural as to be off-putting, has instead been… somewhat alluring. She’s found herself staring too long at Esme’s lips, noticed how her heart starts to race when Carlisle’s hand brushes against her own. She’s decent at dismissing these thoughts during the day… less so when its night and she’s rubbing at her clit, trying to satisfy the unwelcome urges that have gradually become more and more persistent.

Leah’s never been accused of being an especially subtle woman. She should’ve anticipated that it would only be a matter of time before she’d be compelled to act on the feelings that have been bubbling up inside her with growing regularity. And it’s during that lonely in-between time, when most of the world is catching their breath before the new year, that she acts.

The Cullen household is quieter than usual, the scent of the other vampires diminished. The rest of the family is visiting the Denali coven, Carlisle explains to her as he and Esme escort her to the living room. There’s a fire raging in the hearth, and Leah plops herself onto the sofa in front of it, sinking into pillows already warm from the heat of the flames. They move into their normal arrangement; Esme to her left on the couch, and Carlisle seated in front of them, on an old, dusty chair that looks like an artifact from the dark ages. Leah supposes that for all she knows, it very well _could_ be. It might be her imagination, but both of them seem the slightest bit _closer_ than usual, and Leah’s skin prickles at their nearness. Carlisle’s lips move, he’s saying something, but she’s too preoccupied now with how the fire is playing across his cheekbones, the light refracting ever so subtly as to give his skin the quality of being lit from within. There is a heat spreading in her belly and between her legs that is definitely _not_ from the fire, and almost helplessly she turns to Esme. The other woman has begun to laugh at whatever it was Carlisle just said, and Leah has the feverish thought that in this moment the vampire looks half-divine, a creature of otherworldly loveliness. Esme turns to Leah, her laughter still echoing in the air, and the vampire’s eyes seem to burn into hers. Leah’s thoughts have descended into a hazy, incoherent fog, and any good sense she may have possessed has fled entirely.

Esme shifts herself ever-so-slightly closer, and that’s all the encouragement Leah needs. She leans forward, her hand reaching out to cup Esme’s chin, and when the vampire doesn’t protest Leah presses her lips against the other woman’s. Esme’s lips part, surrendering to Leah immediately – they feel like frost, and the tongue she briefly slips into Leah’s mouth brings with it the clean taste of ice. Leah pulls away, and turns to Carlisle next, kissing him as well before whatever wild, emboldening impulse that’s compelling her to do so has vanished.

Carlisle returns the kiss, but it’s over too soon, and in the aftermath Leah begins to feel the first, nagging sensation that she may have just done something _especially_ stupid. Esme looks to Carlisle, and something unreadable flickers through her eyes. An unspoken understanding, born from a century of marriage, passes between them. For a moment, Leah has the cold, sinking impression of being _utterly out of the loop_. Thanks to her new pack, it’s not a feeling she has the misfortune of experiencing as much anymore, but she still remembers it acutely – the aching little dagger slipping through her ribs, carving into her chest with the knowledge that she is _unwanted_.

 _You idiot_ she thinks harshly _you’ve known them for a_ year. _That’s_ nothing _compared to what they’ve shared_. Her cheeks flush with shame, and she’s a second away from standing up and getting the fuck _out,_ decorum be damned, politeness be damned, but then Carlisle and Esme both turn to her in unison and smile so genuinely that a part of her, unwillingly, melts inside.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Carlisle asks her softly.

Leah nods. She does not trust her voice quite yet. In the blink of an eye, with a rush of displaced air, Carlisle is suddenly by her side, one cool hand brushing against her knee, the other stretching out to his wife. Esme squeezes it once before releasing, and she gives her husband a look full of deep, old love that seems to have only grown, rather than faded, in the decades spent together. Then, Esme is turning to Leah as if spellbound, as if there is no force in the universe that could cause her to tear her gaze away. Esme reaches out to stroke Leah’s face, her eyes shining with something like awe. “Beautiful,” she whispers.

It takes Leah longer than she’d like to admit to process that the word is being used to describe _her._ She can barely remember the last time someone called her beautiful; Sam used to, often, before the fated imprint that had scorched away any of his feelings for her, and forever stained Leah’s old closeness with her cousin. Two relationships ended in an instant, and nobody left to help her grieve the loss of either.

Esme hesitates, her golden eyes as warm and soft as honey. Leah almost resents her for it, for that watchful sort of compassion that seems so _unnatural_ on her smooth, predator-lovely face. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Leah says. The word comes out too sharp, and she sees Esme flinch back minutely. Unwanted guilt churns hot like bile in her stomach, and she tries to soften her tone as much as she is able. “I’m sorry. It’s fine, I promise.” It is half-truth anyway – without Sam’s pack, without having to share his cloying, constant, love-struck thoughts, the stranglehold her memories of him once had over her has lessened.

Esme relaxes, but beside her Carlisle gazes at Leah, his eyes full of infinite gentleness. She shifts uncomfortably – there is an unnervingly _incisive_ quality to the stare he’s fixed her with. He looks like he _understands_ , and Leah remembers that he’d lived centuries before he found Esme. She wonders, suddenly and for the first time, how many people he’s loved and lost before his wife. She feels abruptly dizzy, and she shakes her head, trying to dislodge these thoughts. She does not _like_ that she knows so much about their history, about _them_. She does not like how well she has begun to know them over the last year, how that slowly creeping familiarity has infected her. She almost wants to hate them, but the closest emotion she can summon is a dim sort of annoyance. She resent it a little, but she cares for them both, in a way she knows her ancestors would’ve disowned her for, in a way she knows her pack will be horrified by when they eventually find out. Maybe a part of this is rebellion against her destiny, against the shapeshifter genes that have ruined her life.

Whatever the ultimate reason, she wants them both - desperately. Carlisle is still looking at her, his gaze calm and measuring, but not in the deliberate, hunting way of a beast. With his unnaturally white skin cast with warm shadows from the fire, he looks almost painfully _human_. And beside him, nearer to the flames and radiant in their glow, Esme shines like an angel pulled out of heaven. Her hair looks burnished in the light, framing her face like a rosy halo. Leah’s breath catches in her throat, and her tongue scrapes dryly in her mouth as she tries to swallow. She knows they can hear as her heartbeat begins to pound in her chest, as loud and fast as a war-drum. She finds herself threading her fingers through Carlisle’s hair, guiding him closer until she can kiss him again. Distantly, she feels Esme’s deft fingers undo the buttons of her shirt, her cold hands exploring the planes of her exposed chest, moving along the swell of her breasts and then across her collarbone. Leah pulls back breathlessly to assist Esme, throwing the rest of her shirt on the ground and removing her bra with trembling hands. They help each other undress with silent anticipation, and nude the vampires look even more like works of art – it’s almost unfair how flawless they are.

Esme traces the curve of Leah’s mouth. “Have you ever been with a woman?” she asks, her voice dropping into a low, sensual murmur. Leah shudders involuntarily at the sound of it. 

“No,” she reluctantly admits. The rather sad truth of the matter is that she’s only ever been with Sam- him and him alone. She’s rusty with men, completely inexperienced with women. But she’s always prided herself on being a fast learner, and she has a clear grasps of the mechanisms of all of this, at least. “Have you?” she asks, already guessing what the answer will be, but eager to divert attention from her own unimpressive sexual history.

“None as lovely as you,” Esme says simply.

They move, eventually, from the couch to the thick rug spread before the fireplace, kissing and touching with exploratory fingers and lips. Pale fingers trace down her jaw, over the arch of her neck, and she shivers at the contact, at the cold.

By the end, Carlisle is fucking her from behind, and his hands grip into her hips, and bruises blossom and heal under his fingers to the rhythm of his thrusts. She’s gasping out even as she licks between Esme’s legs, her own hands grabbing at the thighs of the vampire sprawled out before her.

When it is over, she curls herself against their bodies, enjoying the contrast between the heat of the flames and the coolness of their skin. They are not warm or sticky with sweat and the afterglow of sex like a mortal lover would be, but in this moment she does not think that anything could persuade her to leave their company.

“Will you stay the night?” Carlisle implores, taking her hand and softly kissing her fingertips.

She agrees, and distantly senses that this is only the _start…_ of whatever _this_ is.


End file.
